The Sounds Of A Breakdown
by Thn0715
Summary: A case gone wrong triggers the complete and total emotional breakdown of Aaron Hotchner. Each chapter will be based around a different song. ***NOMINATED FOR PROFILER'S CHOICE 2010 CM FANFIC AWARDS!
1. My Immortal

**A/N: Hello again friends! I know some of you have waited quite a while for this story. It's taken me nearly two months to finally get this finished so I could start posting. This is the story that I'm the most proud of. I hope you like it. I was going to say "enjoy" but that may not be the right word for a story like this. This is the emotional rollercoaster that goes along with the total breakdown of Aaron Hotchner. Each chapter is based around a different song. **

**To Brummie10 - Here's that box of kleenex I owe you! Might want to keep it close. You'll probably need it! And special thanks to those of you who read over a few chapters of this for me in advance. I appreciate all your advice and words of encouragement! Well...buckle up peeps! Welcome to "The Sounds Of A Breakdown".**

**Chapter 1 is based on the song "My Immortal" by Evanescence.**

* * *

**The Sounds Of A Breakdown**

**Chapter 1 - My Immortal…**

He should have taken himself out of the field. He knew it. They knew it. One look at the picture of their Unsub's latest victim, and they knew this case would leave a mark on all of them. The resemblance was too close. Her hair color, her eye color, the structure of her face, it was too close. It affected them all, but mostly it affected him, affected his judgment. But none of them said anything. He could handle it. It had been long enough, right? Six months was long enough, wasn't it? He'd been in the field, working cases, running their unit just as efficiently and effectively as he always had. He was Superman. He could handle this. But they were proven wrong. They were proven very wrong.

_._

_I'm so tired of being here_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears_

_And if you have to leave_

_I wish that you would just leave_

_'Cause your presence still lingers here_

_And it won't leave me alone_

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_.  
_

Hotch sat alone at the far end of the jet, as far away from his team as he could get in such a small space. Though physically he was there, his mind was still in the old dusty house where, for the first time in his FBI career, he hesitated to take the shot. The Unsub held his victim in front of him as a shield. He held a gun to the base of her neck, just daring the big bad BAU to try to stop him. But Hotch couldn't see the scene before him. All he could see was Haley with George Foyet. God, this victim looked so much like Haley when she was younger. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered the horrors of that day.

_._

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

_When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears_

_And I held your hand through all of these years_

_But you still have_

_All of me_

.

He could still hear her words like she was sitting next to him. He could hear the strength in her voice amid her tears, her fears. God, she was so much stronger than he'd ever hope to be. She stared death in the face and never backed down. She thought ahead, making him promise to teach their son about love, knowing then that she would not be alive to help him keep that promise. He could hear her gasps, knowing one of those would be her last. He needed to get to her. He had to get to her. And yet he was too late.

The Unsub watched the agents closely, looking for a hint of their plan. He needed a way out. Then he saw it. He knew the agent standing in front of him, slightly to his right, couldn't take the shot. He could see the inner turmoil dancing across his face. He could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Most importantly, he saw the slight dip in the way he held his gun. And he knew immediately that he'd won. A sick, twisted grin splayed across his face, and before the team could react, before Hotch could correct his mistake, the Unsub pulled the trigger, his young victim falling to the ground like a rag doll. Three shots rang out simultaneously as the Unsub fell to the ground behind his victim.

Hotch stood frozen, staring at the scene before him.

_._

_You used to captivate me_

_By your resonating light_

_Now I'm bound by the life you left behind_

_Your face it haunts_

_My once pleasant dreams_

_Your voice it chased away_

_All the sanity in me_

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_.  
_

His eyes were shrouded with pain and unshed tears and he stared blankly out the window as this afternoon's events began to collide with the events of six months ago. In this latest victim, all he could see was Haley. Her voice echoed in his head, her final requests, her strong yet broken sobs piercing his already broken heart with every breath he took. And every breath hurt. He felt like the walls of the jet were closing in around him. It was his fault. The young victim's death, Haley's death, they were both his fault. He could have prevented their deaths. He wasn't fast enough to save them.

He jumped upon feeling a hand on his shoulder. JJ was standing next to him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she spoke quietly. "I'm getting some coffee, you want some?"

He barely made eye contact with her as he shook his head. The lack of eye contact worried her. He always looked people in the eye. It was his trademark, so to speak. Her heart clenched as she took in his appearance. She hadn't seen him look this broken since her funeral. She placed her hand on his shoulder again. He tensed at her touch, clenching his eyes tightly.

"Don't," he quietly pleaded, jerking his head away, keeping his eyes closed. His breath caught in his throat. He forced it out and took another breath. Barely audible this time, he practically begged through his clenched teeth. "Please, don't." These were the only words he had spoken since the afternoon's tragedy.

JJ nodded and slowly made her way back to the other end of the jet where the others waited. She shook her head, acknowledging their unspoken question about their boss' well being.

Hotch fought to regain his composure. He could feel the tears threatening as the lump in his throat grew. He couldn't breathe. He felt like the air was being squeezed from his lungs. And his chest ached, like someone was using his heart as a wishbone, tearing it to shreds right down the middle. He was having a panic attack. He did the only thing he could think to do in such an enclosed space. He got up quickly and went into the bathroom. Locking the door, he dropped to the floor, put his head between his knees and tried to breathe. He loosened his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt. _Get a grip, Hotchner!_ His mind screamed over and over. _Get a grip! _Once he was finally able to take some deep breaths, he got up and went to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face and ran his hands through his hair. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, but barely recognized the shell of a man staring back at him. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. _Get a grip_.

The team watched as Hotch made his way back to his seat and continued to stare out the window. They all noticed the change in his appearance. Worry overtook them as they looked to each other for answers.

"I'll try to talk to him when we land," Rossi said. The others nodded in agreement. They spent the remainder of their flight in silence.

_._

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

_When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears_

_And I held your hand through all of these years_

_But you still have_

_All of me_

.

As soon as the jet landed Hotch bolted for the door. This surprised everyone. Usually he would wait for the others to depart first. Knowing this, Rossi had planned to stop him once everyone else was off the jet to talk to him without an audience. Now he had to hurry just to catch up. He tried to get his attention, but Hotch simply kept walking. It took several tries before he got any sort of response.

"Hotch, please, just listen to me for a second."

"Don't, Dave."

"This wasn't your fault."

"How can you possibly say that?" Hotch spat out as he wheeled around to face his one time mentor. "Of course it was my fault! That girl's death was every bit as much my fault as Haley's was!"

"You didn't kill Haley, Hotch."

"Stop, Dave. Just stop."

"No. You need to listen to me."

"We're not going to do this right now."

Hotch turned to walk away. Dave reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Hotch, it's only natural for you to feel guilty. After everything you've been through…"

Hotch cut him off with a warning glare of his now ice-cold eyes. "Don't you do it, Dave." His anger continued to build. And build. And build.

"You did everything you could."

"Don't."

"Survivor's guilt is a very powerful thing."

"Don't you fucking profile me, Rossi!" Hotch exploded.

The team stopped dead in their tracks as they heard the demanding anger in the voice of their always well-controlled Unit Chief as he turned on his best friend. Hotch glared at him, his eyes now filled with unchecked fury. His nostrils flared and his body tensed as he took shaky breaths. His voice changed from furious rage to an unnerving threat-filled calm in an instant. "Don't."

They all stood dead silent as Hotch turned again, making his way to his car, throwing his go bag in the back seat forcefully before getting into the driver's seat and peeling out of the parking lot.

Rossi sighed and ran his hand through his hair as the team approached. Morgan was the first to speak.

"Rossi, what is happening here?"

Rossi just shook his head. "We should have seen this coming."

"How could we?" added Prentiss. "He keeps everything bottled up so tightly."

"We knew how much pain he was in," JJ chimed in. "We should have watched more closely."

"What do we do now?" Reid asked quietly. "Should someone go after him?"

They all looked toward Rossi.

"We all know exactly where he's heading right now," Rossi sighed. They nodded in agreement. They all knew he was on his way to the cemetery, to the one place where he could find some sort of comfort, solace, simply by being close to her. "He needs a little time to cool off and try to process this. I'll give him some time and then go check on him."

Morgan scoffed. "You really think he's just going to open the door and welcome you in, just like that?"

"He's not going to have a choice," Rossi stated vehemently. "And once he lets me in I'm not going to let him out of my sight."

They looked at him warily. Something in his last statement worried them, even more so than they already were.

"Dave," Prentiss started, but was cut off.

"I just don't want him doing anything stupid. I've never seen him in a state like this or react this way to anything. I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare me a little bit."

"What about Jack?" Morgan's concerned question about Hotch's only son made JJ jump. Her parental instincts went on high alert. There was no way Hotch could take care of Jack in this condition.

"He's at his grandparents for the weekend."

JJ closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

They all made their way back to the BAU to finish up their paperwork and put this horrendous case behind them. All of them had trouble focusing, their minds clouded by thoughts of their boss slowly breaking, merely hanging on by very loose threads. A half an hour later Rossi emerged from his office, jacket and go bag in hand, ready to face whatever Aaron Hotchner could throw at him. Morgan caught up to him in front of the elevators.

"Do you want some company?"

Rossi shook his head. "No. He wouldn't want you guys to see him like this. Bad enough that you saw him lose his cool on the tarmac." He clapped a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "I'll call and let you know what's going on."

"Okay."

Rossi nodded as he entered the elevator. The others stared at each other. They remained quiet, filled with concern for the fate of their friend.

_._

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone_

_But though you're still with me_

_I've been alone all along._


	2. Gone Away

**A/N: Just wanted to say a special thanks to those of you who reviewed/alerted/favorited this story already! I totally didn't expect 10 reviews on the first chapter! *blushing* Glad you all like this so far. Let's move this roller coaster along, shall we? Here is chapter two of "Sounds of a Breakdown". **

**Chapter 2 is based on the song "Gone Away" by The Offspring.**

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Gone Away**

Twenty minutes after speeding out of the BAU parking lot, Hotch arrived at the cemetery. He stared out the window for a few moments trying to organize his thoughts before making his way to Haley's grave. Her final resting place had become his safe haven, the place he could always come to when he needed to get away from the chaos that had become his life. And chaos did not even begin to describe what was going on inside his head. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself before finally stepping from the car. A chill ran down his spine and he shivered as he walked to her grave.

.

_Maybe in another life_

_I could find you there_

_Pulled away before your time_

_I can't deal it's so unfair_

_._

_And it feels_

_And it feels like_

_Heaven's so far away_

_And it feels_

_Yeah it feels like_

_The world has grown cold_

_Now that you've gone away_

.

Usually he would sit on the concrete bench in front of her grave. Sometimes he would sit silently and just think. Other times he would talk to her, tell her about how well Jack was doing in school and what a great help Jessica had been to both of them. He would usually bring a mixture of white and red roses for her. They were her favorite. Not today.

.

_Leaving flowers on your grave_

_Show that I still care_

_But black roses and Hail Mary's_

_Can't bring back what's taken from me_

This was not just any ordinary visit. This time he needed her. Really needed her. She was always the one who could rescue him from the darkness that always threatened to consume him. Even after their divorce she still managed to help him. He knew he could still call on her to settle him down when a case became too much. She always seemed to have the magic words. She was his saving grace when everything around him seemed to torture yet another piece of his soul. And at this particular moment his heart and soul were overrun by his demons.

He needed to be as close to her as possible. He stepped past the bench and sat on the ground, leaning back against her tombstone. He thought it would comfort him. But the coldness of the stone seemed to seep into his bones, driving him further into his depression.

_._

_I reach to the sky_

_And call out your name_

_And if I could trade_

_I would_

_._

_And it feels_

_And it feels like_

_Heaven's so far away_

_And it stings_

_Yeah it stings now_

_The world is so cold_

_Now that you've gone away_

.

When he finally spoke, it was only one sentence, and it seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"It should have been me, not you."

He'd felt that way since the day she died. He'd lost count of how many times that day he'd begged God to spare her and take him. After all, it was because of him that such an evil had entered her life. It was because of him that she had been taken away from everything and everyone she loved, even before her life was taken from her. Even now, sitting beside her grave, he looked to the sky and begged, pleaded, for God to allow him to trade places with her. As if on cue, it started to rain.

.

_I reach to the sky_

_And call out your name_

_Oh please let me trade_

_I would_

.

He sat in the rain hoping to feel that temporary comfort and solace that always came with being near her. But now all he felt was more guilt. More pain. "Why you? Why did it have to be you?" He felt the tears start to fall. He could not fight them anymore. He buried his hands in his soaked hair, the cold from the rain causing him to physically shake. He was completely overwhelmed by this onslaught of emotions: guilt, pain, torment, anger.

Anger. That was the emotion that kept trying to slither its way into his heart and soul. It was the emotion he fought the hardest against. He could not afford to let anger have a place to dwell inside him. He had to keep that one in check, especially with Jack around. Jack could not see him angry. Anger too many times led to violence. He could never risk that. But Jack was spending this weekend with his grandparents. He kept trying to force his anger back down into the depths, but knowing Jack was not home seemed to prevent that from happening. Instead its intensity continued to build.

He sat for several minutes trying to regain some semblance of his composure. Finally he stood, rubbing his hands over his face, his clothes completely soaked through. "I'm sorry," he uttered, placing a solitary black rose on her tombstone and making his way back to his car.

.

_And it feels_

_And it feels like_

_Heaven's so far away_

_And it feels_

_Yeah it feels like_

_The world has grown cold_

_Now that you've gone away_

.

Half an hour later, Rossi arrived at the cemetery. The rain had slowed to a faint drizzle. He figured Hotch would already be gone, but it was worth a shot. Rossi decided to pay Haley a visit anyway. He, as Hotch did earlier, took several deep breaths before making his way to Haley's grave. He saw the black rose Hotch had placed on top of her tombstone. "Aaron," he sighed and shook his head.

His best friend was falling apart at the seams and he felt completely powerless to stop it. He laid a hand on Haley's tombstone. "We sure could use your help right now, sweetheart." He sent up a silent prayer for any kind of help he could get.

He stayed for a few more minutes trying to steel his nerves for what he knew would be one of the hardest confrontations of his life. He took another deep breath, made the sign of the cross, went to his car and headed to Hotch's apartment.


	3. Monster

**A/N: Oh my goodness! I am floored by the response this is getting already! You guys are wonderful. I hope you guys are ready, because things are about to get extremely intense! Hold onto your hats! Here we go....  
**

**This chapter is based on the song "Monster" by Skillet.**

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Monster**

Hotch stepped into his apartment, shut the door, and set the alarm. He had blasted the heat in the car on the way, so his clothes were mostly dry. Now he was burning up instead of freezing. He tossed his jacket over the arm of the couch along with his tie. He untucked his dress shirt and unbuttoned it, rolling up his sleeves. His white undershirt was surprisingly dry.

It was eerily quiet with Jack gone. He paced around looking for something to do, anything that would keep him busy and calm him down. But that act only seemed to fuel his fire. He thought about the numerous case files on his desk waiting to be reviewed. Maybe immersing himself in a new case would make him feel more like himself and hopefully erase the travesty that was the last case.

.

_The secret side of me_

_I never let you see_

_I keep it caged_

_But I can't control it_

_So stay away from me_

_The beast is ugly_

_I feel the rage_

_And I just can't hold it_

.

He sat at his desk flipping through the files, but he could not concentrate. In every file was another victim, most of them female. And in those female victims, regardless of their physical description or appearance, all he could see was Haley. And in every unsub, Foyet. Every crime was her death replaying over and over again before his eyes. And he grew angrier and more frustrated with every passing second. It was building to a boiling point. He slammed the files shut and shoved them off the desk sending crime scene photos and detectives' notes sailing across the floor in a scattered mess. He stood up forcefully from his desk, knocking his desk chair over in the process. He did not bother to pick it up. He walked to the small liquor cabinet that sat against the wall to the side of his living room and retrieved a small glass and a crystal decanter housing a large amount of his favorite scotch.

He poured a small amount and downed it in one shot. He felt the familiar burn as the smooth liquid ran down his throat. If he could not make the pain stop, at least he could numb himself from it, at least for a little while. He quickly poured another shot. And another. And another. It was not working. He was not numbing at all. Instead he only felt more pain, more anger. One more shot and the decanter was empty. He downed that one as quickly as the others and impulsively sent the small glass careening into the wall across the room. Shards of glass cascaded to the floor, each tiny shard mimicking a piece of his soul slowly breaking away.

.

_It's scratching on the walls_

_In the closet, in the halls_

_It comes awake_

_And I can't control it_

_Hiding under the bed_

_In my body, in my head_

_Why won't somebody come and save me from this?_

_Make it end!_

.

He was barely fazed by his uncharacteristic actions. Instead he returned to the cabinet and retrieved another bottle, this time foregoing the glass. He took the bottle and flopped unceremoniously down on the couch, desperate for a distraction. He turned on the TV and channel surfed: nothing on but so-called "Reality TV". He huffed and turned the TV back off, tossing the remote aside. He'd had enough reality for a while.

He continued to drink. And much the same as when he was beating the life out of George Foyet six months ago, with every drink came a different flashback.

It brought back some of the best moments of his life; the day they met, their wedding day, the day Jack was born.

And it brought back some of the worst moments of his life; the day she left him, Boston, his stabbing, sending Haley and Jack away.

And then it brought back Hell; finding Sam Kassmeyer's tortured body, that final phone call, his tearful promise, killing Foyet, Haley's body. Haley's body. Haley's body.

He leaned forward and shoved the contents of his coffee table violently onto the floor. He placed the half empty bottle on the now empty table and buried his hands in his hair. He slammed his eyes shut and clenched fistfuls of hair in his hands.

"Stop," he mumbled. "Please, stop."

.

_I feel it deep within,_

_It's just beneath the skin_

_I must confess that I_

_Feel like a monster_

_I hate what I've become_

_The nightmare's just begun_

_I must confess that I_

_Feel like a monster_

_I feel like a monster_

.

There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. Maybe whoever it was would think he was not home and go away. But it grew insistently louder. And then it grew a voice.

"Aaron! I know you're home. Open the door!"

"Go away, Dave!"

"You know that's not gonna happen! Open the door or I'll break it down. I may not be as strong as Morgan, but I know how to kick in a door!"

Hotch reluctantly got off the couch, picked up his bottle and took a long swig before opening the door. He glared at Rossi.

"What do you want?" he snapped, his anger seeping through his every pore.

"I wanted to see if you were alright," Rossi replied. "Clearly, you aren't."

"Astute observation, Agent Rossi. Use your profiling skills to figure that one out?" Hotch shot back sarcastically, taking another drink in the process.

"How much have you had to drink already, Hotch?"

Hotch released a chuckle that made Rossi's spine stiffen and his blood run cold.

"Not nearly enough." Hotch took another drink and retreated back towards the living room.

.

_My secret side I keep_

_Hid under lock and key_

_I keep it caged_

_But I can't control it_

_Cause if I let him out_

_He'll tear me up_

_And break me down_

_Why won't somebody come and save me from this?_

_Make it end!_

.

Rossi entered the apartment and closed the door. When he turned around he was staggered at the sight before him. The apartment was a wreck. The broken glass, the files strewn everywhere, books and magazines all over the living room floor. Rossi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was it. This was the breakdown they had been waiting for, been expecting. But this was far worse than even he had imagined. He took a deep breath.

"Hotch, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"You know drowning yourself in scotch isn't going to solve anything."

"This coming from the scotch king of Quantico," Hotch shot back.

Rossi shook his head. "Aaron. Talk to me. Please. I want to help you, but I can't if you don't let me in."

Hotch just shook his head and took another drink.

.

_I feel it deep within,_

_It's just beneath the skin_

_I must confess that I_

_Feel like a monster_

_I hate what I've become_

_The nightmare's just begun_

_I must confess that I_

_Feel like a monster_

_I feel like a monster_

.

Rossi was seriously unnerved. He'd never seen his friend in such a state. It scared him. He was terrified that if Hotch kept going like this it would lead to disastrous consequences. He decided to confront his biggest fear head on. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.

"Where are your guns, Hotch?"

Hotch tensed. "Excuse me?"

"Where are your guns?"

"What, you think I'm suicidal?"

"It's crossed my mind a few times."

Hotch spoke with contempt. "Well, let me put your mind at ease then. Suicide is too easy. There's not enough punishment in it for what I deserve. My guns are locked up, just like always."

Rossi rubbed his hands over his worried, tired face.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Hotch."

"Doing what?"

"Blaming yourself for things you have no control over."

"Oh really," Hotch spat. "No control over? All I had to do was accept his damn deal, Dave! She'd still be alive. They'd all still be alive!"

"You never would have been able to live with yourself if you had done that. You never would have been able to look your team in the eye, look your son in the eye."

"But at least he'd still have his mother!" Hotch was yelling now. "I took that away from him, don't you get that?"

"Foyet took that away from him. Not you."

All that statement seemed to do was set him off even more. He reared around to face Rossi, leaving mere inches between them. There was nothing but pure self-loathing in his eyes.

"It was my fault he came after them! I made it personal. I insulted him. I turned down his deal. He killed her to make me suffer! He killed her _because_ of me! Everything he did from the moment I turned him down was my fault!"

.

_It's hiding in the dark_

_Its teeth are razor sharp_

_There's no escape for me_

_It wants my soul,_

_It wants my heart_

_No one can hear me scream_

_Maybe it's just a dream_

_Or maybe it's inside of me_

_Stop this monster!_

.

He was pacing like a caged animal. His rage was eating him alive. He hated himself. The same thought that had plagued his mind at least once a day since he found her bloodied body on what used to be their bedroom floor was now screaming at him.

_It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me._

He clenched his eyes shut and brought his hands over his ears trying desperately to quiet his inner demon. It didn't work. He dropped his arms and opened his eyes, and realized he was standing in front of the mirror hanging on the wall just over his liquor cabinet.

.

_I feel it deep within,_

_It's just beneath the skin_

_I must confess that I_

_Feel like a monster_

_I hate what I've become_

_The nightmare's just begun_

_I must confess that I_

_Feel like a monster_

_I feel like a monster_

.

Rossi saw Hotch stop in his tracks. He watched as Hotch glared at his own reflection. By the tensing of his body, Rossi could tell Hotch hated the man staring back at him. Hotch tried to take deep breaths through his clenched teeth. He was seething. His shaking hands clenched into fists. Rossi risked taking a few steps closer.

"Aaron?"

That triggered it. Hotch reared back and, with an angry roar, swung with all of his anger, all of his rage, and all of his loathing at his reflection. Shards of glass tore through his hand, embedding into his knuckles, and scattered across the top of the cabinet and onto the floor. Blood ran down his arm and dripped over the broken glass. It didn't seem to faze him at all.

Rossi stood wide-eyed for a moment before dropping his head and sighing. "God, please, come on. A little help here."


	4. Hero

**A/N: You guys are really something else, you know that! I'm still floored by the incredible response this story is getting. I'm very humbled. And to the anonymous reviewers who I couldn't send a reply to...thank you very much!**

**Warning: I know religion is a touchy subject for a lot of people, so this chapter may be a bit dicey for some. Please know that it was not my intention to offend anyone.  
**

**This chapter is based on the song "Hero" by Skillet.**

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Hero**

**.  
**

_I'm just a step away_

_I'm just a breath away_

_Losin' my faith today_

_(Fallin' off the edge today)_

_I am just a man_

_Not superhuman_

_(I'm not superhuman)_

_Someone save me from the hate_

.

Hotch heard Rossi's silent plea for God's help. He smiled and chuckled with a cynicism that gave Rossi chills.

"You really want to talk about God with me right now, Rossi? Really?"

"Aaron," he began, but Hotch cut him off.

"No, Dave. You really think God is going to come here and help? He isn't. He already had His chance." Every time Hotch said His name Rossi could hear the contempt in his voice. "He had His chance six months ago, and you know what he did? Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Rossi steeled himself in preparation for the onslaught he knew was coming.

.

_It's just another war_

_Just another family torn_

_(Falling from my faith today)_

_Just a step from the edge_

_Just another day in the world we live_

_._

_I need a hero to save me now_

_I need a hero (Save me now)_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_A hero'll save me (Just in time)_

.

"Where was He, huh?" Hotch continued, unrelenting. "Where was He when I was begging and pleading for His help? Begging Him, 'please, please protect them. Please keep them safe so I can bring them home. Please don't let them get hurt.' Where, Dave? WHERE THE HELL WAS HE!"

He threw the bottle of scotch against the wall as he screamed those words. Rossi watched as the bottle shattered and the small amount of remaining scotch ran down the wall and formed a little pool on the floor. Then he looked back at his friend and his heart broke. The tears were now streaming down Hotch's face, finally releasing some of the anger that held his heart. Rossi wanted so badly to help him but had no idea how.

"Why would He put her through that?" Hotch struggled to say. "She was innocent. She never did anything to hurt anyone. Why would He make her suffer like that?"

.

_I've gotta fight today_

_To live another day_

_Speakin' my mind today_

_(My voice will be heard today)_

_I've gotta make a stand_

_But I am just a man_

_(I'm not superhuman)_

_My voice will be heard today_

.

"She didn't suffer long, Aaron. She didn't feel much pain." He spoke too soon, realizing as the words left his mouth that Hotch was not talking about her physical pain.

"She suffered worse than anyone should ever have to!" Hotch cried out, wheeling around to face his friend. "She knew from the moment she heard my voice on the other end of that phone that she was with Foyet. She knew that he had tricked her and she was going to die. You don't think she suffered knowing that when she hugged Jack it would be the last time she ever would? She watched him run up the stairs knowing that she would never see her son again, that she would never get to see him grow up. You don't think she suffered knowing that there was no way I would get to her in time? She was terrified, Dave! She stood her ground and stood up to Foyet knowing she was staring her own death in the face, but you and I both know that on the inside she was screaming for help!"

Hotch braced himself on the back of the couch to keep from falling to the ground, completely overcome by this tidal wave of emotions. He took several staggered breaths.

"Why, Dave? Why would He put her through that hell? Why wouldn't He help her?"

.

_It's just another war_

_Just another family torn_

_(My voice will be heard today)_

_It's just another kill_

_The countdown begins to destroy ourselves_

_._

_I need a hero to save me now_

_I need a hero (Save me now)_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_A hero'll save me (Just in time)_

_._

_I need a hero to save my life_

_I need a hero just in time_

_Save me just in time_

_Save me just in time_

.

Dave crossed the room to put his hand on Hotch's shoulder.

"I wish I had those answers for you, Aaron, but I don't," he spoke softly. "No one knows why God does things the way He does. But He didn't do those things to her. That blame belongs solely with Foyet."

"He could have done something. Anything. She always believed in Him and He left her to suffer alone."

"Maybe He was protecting your son."

Hotch wheeled around with a renewed fire and an even stronger sadness. "You think He was _protecting_ him? He took away the only constant thing my son has ever had in his entire life! Do you have any idea how horrible his nightmares are now? Do you have any idea what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night and hear him screaming for his mother and know that you can never take that pain away from him? DO YOU! He's just a kid! He should never have had to endure any of this!"

He was nearly sobbing now thinking of the hell his young son had been through. He stopped only long enough to catch his breath. "God is supposed to be all powerful. He can be in two places at once when we can't. He could have helped them both. He could have saved them!"

Aaron finally gave into his sobs and fell completely weak as he again braced himself against the couch. His tears fell like an unrelenting waterfall. His hands shook as he panted for breath. But quickly another feeling took over as his mouth went dry, his face contorted and his breathing changed. Dave noticed.

"Aaron? What is it?"

"I'm gonna be sick." He pushed away from the couch and ran down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Rossi decided not to follow. Aaron did not need him hovering over him. He would only be embarrassed. He would be embarrassed enough in the morning once the alcohol wore off and he realized he'd actually had a witness to his breakdown.

.

_Who's gonna fight for what's right_

_Who's gonna help us survive_

_We're in the fight of our lives_

_(And we're not ready to die)_

_Who's gonna fight for the weak_

_Who's gonna make 'em believe_

_I've got a hero (I've got a hero)_

_Livin' in me_

.

Rossi knew this had to be the first time since Haley's death that Hotch allowed himself to confront his grief. He'd remained so strong for Jack that he hadn't allowed himself any time at all to deal with his own pain. He just wished he had the answers Hotch sought. As he listened to his friend coughing and gagging a few feet away, he sat on the couch, buried his face in his hands and let his own silent tears fall. He sighed and spoke quietly to God.

.

_I'm gonna fight for what's right_

_Today I'm speaking my mind_

_And if it kills me tonight_

_(I will be ready to die)_

_A hero's not afraid to give his life_

_A hero's gonna save me just in time_

.

"I don't know what to do. I hate seeing him in so much pain. I want so badly to help him, we all do, but I don't know how. And the one person I would ask for advice is up there with you now. I know he's angry and volatile right now, but please stay with him. I'll do the best I can, but I could definitely use a little help."

.

_I need a hero to save me now_

_I need a hero (Save me now)_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_A hero'll save me (Just in time)_

_A hero's gonna save me just in time_


	5. Bother

**A/N: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. And thanks for all the alerts and favorites as well! The response to this story has been overwhelming. You all sure know how to make a girl feel good! This chapter is not as physically intense as the previous two, but still very heavily emotional. And Brum...you might want to open up that new case of tissues now! ;)  
**

**This chapter is based on the song "Bother" by Corey Taylor, the lead singer of Slipknot and Stone Sour.**

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Bother**

After a half hour passed with no sign of Hotch and no sound coming from the bathroom, Rossi got worried and went to check on his friend. He knocked softly on the door.

"Hotch? Are you alright?"

Hotch did not respond. Rossi knocked again and eased the door open.

"Aaron?"

.

_Wish I was too dead to cry_

_My self-affliction fades_

_Stones to throw at my creator_

_Masochist to which I cater_

_._

_You don't need to bother;_

_I don't need to be_

_I'll keep slipping farther_

_But once I hold on,_

_I won't let go 'til it bleeds_

.

Hotch was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, slumped against the bathtub. The tears had dried on his cheeks, his breathing still a little hitched, but his face was completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. Rossi knelt in front of him. Hotch's eyes, usually filled with confidence and power, were completely vacant.

"Aaron, please talk to me."

But Hotch remained unresponsive. He continued to stare past Rossi as if he was not there. Rossi looked away, trying to quiet the many frightening scenarios running through his mind and think of a way to help his friend. When he glanced back he noticed Hotch's hand, the blood now drying and the glass still firmly embedded in his knuckles. He found a first aid kit and a bottle of alcohol in the cabinet under the sink and tweezers on the counter. He returned to Hotch's side, placing the items on the floor. He reached across him and turned on the faucet in the tub letting the water get warm.

"Let me see your hand," he spoke softly.

Hotch still did not move, so Rossi picked up his hand and held it under the warm water washing off the dried blood. He could see clearly now where exactly the glass was embedded. He picked up the tweezers and began extracting each piece as carefully as possible, drawing fresh blood in the process. Once the glass was removed he cleaned the cuts with alcohol. He expected to get some sort of reaction once Hotch felt the sting of the alcohol in his open wounds, but Hotch never flinched.

"I'm sorry. I know this hurts," Rossi whispered. As he continued to tend to his injured hand, Hotch finally broke his silence. He spoke barely above a whisper, his voice raspy from the evening's events.

.

_Wish I was too dead to care_

_If indeed I cared at all_

_Never had a voice to protest_

_So you fed me shit to digest_

_._

_I wish I had a reason;_

_My flaws are open season_

_For this, I gave up trying_

_One good turn deserves my dying_

.

"It should have been me, Dave. I should have died that day. Not her. It would have been so much easier on everyone if it had been me."

Rossi shook his head. "Aaron, do you have any idea how many people love you? How many people care about you? If you had died, just as many people would have been hurting. It wouldn't have been easier on anyone had it been you."

"It would have been easier for Jack."

"Aaron," Rossi tried to interrupt, but Hotch kept talking.

"Jack was already used to being without me. He wouldn't have had to adjust to a whole new life."

Rossi began bandaging Hotch's hand as he spoke. "That little boy loves you more than life itself, Aaron. You are his entire world. He idolizes you. He wouldn't have felt any less pain had you died instead of Haley. He would have lost his hero."

"He won't remember her," he whispered, his voice cracked as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Nobody will let him forget her. He has so many people to help him remember how wonderful his mother was. You, Jessica, his grandparents, us; we won't let him forget."

"This is just so wrong."

.

_You don't need to bother;_

_I don't need to be_

_I'll keep slipping farther_

_But once I hold on,_

_I won't let go 'til it bleeds_

.

Dave did not have a comeback for that statement. It was very true. The entire ordeal was so very wrong. No four-year-old should ever have to endure the pain that young Jack Hotchner had. In that aspect Rossi could feel every ounce of Hotch's pain and fear. He finished bandaging his hand as they sat in near silence, the only sounds being Hotch's staggered breathing as he continued to cry. Several minutes passed before Rossi spoke.

"When was the last time you slept through the night, Aaron?"

Hotch shook his head. "I don't remember." He rested his head back against the wall as he whispered, almost inaudibly. "I'm so tired."

"Come on. You need to try to get some sleep."

Hotch allowed Rossi to help him to his feet. Rossi wrapped a steadying arm around his waist as Hotch braced himself against him to regain his balance. His head was still spinning from the alcohol. Once they were sure he could stand, Rossi guided Hotch to his room and down onto the bed. He removed Hotch's shoes and placed them next to the nightstand. When he returned to Hotch's side, the sight broke his heart. Hotch had curled in on himself tighter than Rossi ever thought possible. In this instant he looked a lot more like Jack than Aaron. He looked like a terrified little boy trying to protect himself from the monsters that were sure to come.

Rossi sat next to him and placed a hand on his back. He could feel the tension in his muscles as Hotch wrapped his arms impossibly tighter around his own chest. His breathing was still hitched and ragged. He was trembling and crying again, but kept his eyes closed.

.

_Wish I'd died instead of lived_

_A zombie hides my face_

_Shell forgotten with its memories_

_Diaries left with cryptic entries_

_._

_And you don't need to bother;_

_I don't need to be_

_I'll keep slipping farther_

_But once I hold on,_

_I won't let go 'til it bleeds_

.

"Why does it still hurt so much? Why won't it stop?"

Rossi didn't answer, but let him ramble. His voice was exhausted. Rossi could tell that sleep was not far off. He continued to rub his back trying to soothe him. He was not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way Aaron had become the son he never had. He felt a strong paternal need to always protect him the way Aaron protected everyone else. And it tore him apart to see how badly he was suffering and not be able to do anything at all to stop it.

"I didn't tell her I loved her. I should have told her I loved her. I should have told her."

His voice trailed off at the end. Rossi ran a soothing hand through his hair and looked down at his face. Finally, mercifully, he was asleep. He covered him with the spare blanket draped across the foot of the bed and watched him for a moment before making his way out of the room. He paused in the doorway and took one more look back.

"I promise, Aaron. She already knows."

He turned off the lights, closed the door and made his way back to the living room. He thought about cleaning up the mess, and he'd promised to call Morgan and give him an update, but he was exhausted. He sat on the couch and glanced up at the clock on the wall, one of the few things in the room left undamaged, and realized why he was so tired. It was 5:00 AM. They had been up all night. He decided instead to try to catch a few hours sleep. He would call Morgan when he woke up and then clean up. He lay back on the couch and within a few short moments he was asleep.

.

_You don't need to bother;_

_I don't need to be_

_I'll keep slipping farther_

_But once I hold on:_

_I'll never live down my deceit_


	6. Don't Wake Me

**A/N: Once again, a very special thanks to everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favorited this story. I greatly appreciate everyone's kind words and encouragement. You all make writing even more fun! Now, as for our broken, exhausted, emotionally drained Unit Chief...he's about to get a very special visitor.  
**

**This chapter is based on the song "Don't Wake Me" by Skillet**

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Don't Wake Me**

He felt a warmth he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. It was soothing, like something wrapping him in safety. He felt a feather soft touch caress his cheek and run through his hair. He let his tired eyes open slowly. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

.

_I went to bed I was thinking about you_

_Ain't the same since I'm living without you_

_All the memories are getting colder_

_All the things that I wanna do over_

_._

_Went to bed I was thinking about you_

_I wanna talk and laugh like we used to_

_When I see you in my dreams at night_

_It's so real but it's in my mind_

.

"Haley?" he uttered in a surprise whisper.

"Shhh," she quieted him, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him lying down. "Hi."

He gazed at her in wonder. "Is it really you?"

"Sort of," she smiled. "You're dreaming, Aaron."

.

_And now_

_I guess_

_This is as good as it gets_

_._

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause I don't wanna leave this dream_

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause I never seem to stay asleep enough_

_When it's you I'm dreaming of_

_I don't wanna wake up_

.

She continued to stroke his hair much the same way she used to when she knew he was upset or afraid. Her gentle touch always had an incredible calming effect on him. He seemed to melt into her touch.

"God, I miss you so much. So does Jack. He still watches the videos of the two of you."

"I check in on him from time to time. He's getting so big." Aaron could hear the pride in her voice. "He looks more and more like you."

"No. He's you," Aaron smiled. He opened his eyes again to gaze at her. "I didn't think it was possible for you to get more beautiful, but you are."

She chuckled. "Heaven seems to have that affect on people."

He chuckled for a moment before changing his tone to serious.

.

_I went to bed I was thinking about you_

_And how it felt when I finally found you_

_It's like a movie playing over in my head_

_Don't wanna look 'cause I know how it ends_

_._

_All the words that I said that I wouldn't say_

_All the promises I made that I wouldn't break_

_It's last call, last song, last dance_

_'Cause I can't get you back, can't get a second chance_

_._

_And now,_

_I guess_

_This is as good as it gets_

.

"There are so many things I want to say to you."

"You don't have to say anything, Aaron."

"Yes, I do. I'm so sorry. For everything. I let you down so many times. When you needed me the most I was too late."

She put her hand tenderly on his cheek, turning his face to hers. "I need you to listen to me. Really listen, and hear what I'm going to tell you. My death was not your fault."

"It was." He tried to turn away but she would not let him.

"No, it wasn't. You didn't send George Foyet after us. You didn't pull the trigger of his gun. You did everything you could to protect us. You sacrificed the most precious thing you have, sending your only son away, in order to keep us safe. George Foyet was a sick, twisted man intent on hurting people. It's his fault, Aaron. Not yours. I do not blame you. I need you to believe that."

"I wish I could have stopped him."

"In the end, you did." She paused, looking down at Aaron's tired face. "Do you remember the promise you made me?"

"Yes." His promise to teach Jack about love. How was he supposed to do that when all he felt anymore was pain? "I don't know how to keep it."

"In time, you will."

.

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause I don't wanna leave this dream_

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause I never seem to stay asleep enough_

_When it's you I'm dreaming of_

_I don't wanna wake up_

_._

_Don't wake me_

_We're together just you and me_

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause we're happy like we used to be_

_I know I've gotta let you go_

_But I don't wanna be alone_

_._

She continued to comb her fingers through his hair and hoped she had been able to provide him with some sort of comfort. Hopefully knowing that she didn't blame him for her death would allow him to forgive himself and finally begin to heal.

"I don't have much time," she whispered. "You should sleep now."

"I don't want to wake up and lose you all over again."

"You'll never lose me, Aaron. I'll be right here." She placed a hand on his chest directly over his heart. "Always."

He felt warmth spread through him, breaking through the ice that encased his heart, reaching deep into his very soul.

.

_These dreams of you keep on growing stronger_

_It ain't a lot but it's all I have_

_Nothing to do but keep sleeping longer_

_Don't wanna stop cause I want you back_

_._

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause I don't wanna leave this dream_

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause I never seem to stay asleep enough_

_When it's you I'm dreaming of_

_I don't wanna wake up_

_._

_Don't wake me_

_We're together just you and me_

_Don't wake me_

_'Cause we're happy like we used to be_

_I know I've gotta let you go_

_But I don't wanna wake up._

_._

"I love you so much, Haley," he whispered, slowly drifting into a deep sleep.

She smiled and placed a feather soft kiss on his forehead.

"I know."

And she was gone.


	7. Look To The Sky

**A/N: Well friends, we've come to the end of our journey. Special thanks once again to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. I'm so glad you liked this and am still amazed at the incredible response. I am very proud of this story and I hope that the end does the story justice for all of you. Thanks again for sticking with me!  
**

**This chapter is considerably longer that the others, but I had a lot I wanted to get in. It's the longest chapter I've ever written! I probably could have broken it into two chapters, but everything seemed to fit with the song so well, I didn't have the heart to break it up. Anyway, here is the conclusion of "Sounds of a Breakdown".**

**This chapter is based on the song "Look To The Sky" by Train.**

* * *

**Chapter 7 – When I Look To The Sky**

Hotch stirred awake with the sun shining through the mini blinds across his face. He rolled over and looked at the clock. 8:30 AM. He felt surprisingly rested considering he hadn't slept for very long. He rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. Something did not feel right. There were bandages on his right hand. _That's weird_, he thought. _I don't remember doing that_. Then he looked into the mirror and noticed the unusual amount of beard stubble on his face. His brow furrowed. _How long have I been out?_

.

_When it rains it pours and opens doors_

_That flood the floors we thought would always_

_Keep us safe and dry_

_And in the midst of sailing ships_

_We sink our lips into the ones we love_

_That have to say goodbye_

_.  
_

_And as I float along this ocean_

_I can feel you like a notion that won't seem to let me go_

.

Rossi sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee in his worn out jeans and a faded FBI t-shirt. He was working the daily crossword puzzle in the morning paper when a rustling sound caught his attention. He sat the newspaper and his glasses on the table, picked up his coffee mug and made his way into the living room.

Hotch stood behind the couch assessing his living room. The glass was missing from the mirror on the wall but there was none on the floor. The case files and magazines he expected to find scattered across the floor were back on their respective tables. He looked around curiously. He didn't remember cleaning up.

"I cleaned up while you were asleep."

His head jerked up at the unexpected voice. Rossi was standing in the kitchen entryway behind him, watching him closely.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay. I didn't realize you were still here."

"I wasn't about to leave you alone after what happened," Rossi stated. He took a sip of his coffee and continued to watch his friend carefully. "How are you feeling?"

He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Embarrassed," he answered quietly. "And a little…unsteady."

Rossi offered a small smile. "I'm not surprised. Come on, sit down."

Hotch followed Rossi into the kitchen and sat at the table while Rossi poured two fresh cups of coffee. He handed one to Hotch and took the seat across from him. Rossi noticed the confused look on his face.

"What is it?"

He looked down at his bandaged right hand. "I don't remember doing this."

"You don't remember cutting it or bandaging it?"

"I remember breaking the mirror. But I don't remember getting cleaned up or going to bed. What happened?"

Rossi took a sip of his coffee. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I remember yelling a lot and being extremely angry." He paused as some of the events of that night replayed in his head. "I said a lot of things I shouldn't have said. I'm sorry about that."

Rossi waved him off. "Do you remember getting sick?"

His brow furrowed again. "Vaguely. But it's all blank after that."

Rossi took a deep breath. "You scared the hell out of me, Aaron."

Hotch sighed. Rarely did anything good follow when Rossi called him 'Aaron'. He tried to steel himself in anticipation for Rossi's account of his missing hours. It didn't work.

"When you got sick I waited for you to come back out. When you didn't I went to check on you. You were slumped over on the floor. But that look in your eyes…I don't think I'll ever forget that look. Your eyes were completely vacant, Aaron. Like you weren't there. And you were unresponsive to anything. I tried to get you to talk. I cleaned up your hand. I expected you to at least flinch when I poured alcohol over the cuts. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I thought for a minute that you'd gone catatonic on me. I was this close to calling an ambulance," he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger mere inches from each other. "And when you finally did speak all you said was, 'it should have been me'."

He looked up to gauge Hotch's reaction. His eyes were closed, his face failing to hide his emotions. Guilt. Fear. Embarrassment. Shame. He knew it was hurting Hotch to relive all this, but he kept going.

"Anyway, when I finally got you to your room you fell asleep pretty fast. I'm not surprised, though. You were completely exhausted. I waited for you to fall asleep before I left. I fell asleep on the couch not much later. You were still out when I woke up, so I cleaned up and called Morgan. He's been very worried about you. They all have. Your outburst on the tarmac freaked them out. A lot."

He buried his face in his hands. The last thing he ever wanted was for his team to see him break. Rossi quickly changed the subject from the team back to Hotch.

"I can't believe you slept that long considering you told me that you don't remember the last time you slept through the night. I checked on you quite a few times to make sure you were still breathing. But the longer you slept, the calmer you looked, so I let you sleep."

"I was dreaming about Haley. She was reassuring me that everything would be okay." He smiled slightly, remembering how she put his mind at ease and helped him sleep.

.

_Cause when I look to the sky_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_And you make everything all right_

_And when I feel like I'm lost_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_And I can always find my way when you are here_

.

It was not long, however, before his original question re-entered his thoughts. "How long was I out?"

"27 hours."

Hotch's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Yeah. You slept for 27 hours."

Hotch rubbed his forehead. How could he have possibly slept that long? He hadn't slept more than five hours a night since high school. As he contemplated the events of last night…make that the night before…a realization struck him.

"Oh no," he whispered to himself. "Jack."

"What?"

"I didn't call Jack. He gets upset if he doesn't hear from me. He gets scared."

"He won't be upset or scared. I called him for you."

Hotch looked up anxiously.

"I just told him you were sick and you fell asleep. He's okay. He said to tell you he loves you and to feel better soon."

Hotch buried his face in his hands again. "Oh, God."

"Hotch, look at me."

When Hotch finally met his eyes, Rossi could see the guilt building within him.

"You needed this to happen," Rossi spoke firmly, "however traumatic it was. All that anger was tearing you apart piece by piece. You desperately needed to get that anger and frustration out. And the last thing you needed was for it to happen in front of Jack. Maybe now that you've let some of that go, you can finally start to heal. And seeing you healing will help your son heal, too."

Hotch listened to everything Rossi said. Really listened. He knew Rossi was right. Carrying around so much anger really was tearing him apart. It was affecting every aspect of his life. He knew Jack picked up on his frustration, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He knew the team picked up on it as well, but they would never confront him.

"Listen," Rossi continued. "Go take a shower, get cleaned up. Then we'll go get Jack."

"You don't have to do that. It's a two hour drive."

"I know. But you probably shouldn't drive today. Besides, I know you've got a lot to wrap your head around. You can use the drive to think about a few things."

Hotch nodded his agreement and went to get ready.

.

_And every word I didn't say_

_That caught up in some busy day_

_And every dance on the kitchen floor_

_We didn't have before_

_Every sunset that we'll miss_

_I'll wrap them all up in a kiss_

_Pick you up in all of this when I sail away_

_.  
_

_While I float upon this ocean_

_I can feel you like a notion that I hope will never leave_

.

Aaron spent most of the drive lost in his own thoughts. So many memories of the life he shared with her flooded his mind as they drove the same road he's traveled so many times before. This time around, probably because of his dream, his memories were all good ones.

He remembered being that awkward 17-year-old kid falling in love for the first time. How strange and terrifying and wonderful and beautiful it felt the first time he held her hand, the first time he hugged her, kissed her. The first time they said, "I love you."

He remembered the first time they made love. How nervous they both were. How afraid he was when he admitted that he had never done this before. How relieved he was when she said she hadn't either. How his hands finally stopped shaking when she touched him, and he knew that this was right. And it was beautiful.

He remembered the day she said, "Yes." The day they said, "I do." The morning she surprised him with, "I'm pregnant." And the terrifying joy he felt when she said, "It's time."

He remembered taking one look at the most precious gift she could ever possibly give him and knowing in that moment that life would never ever be the same again. And he was okay with that.

He remembered last night. And how, even in death, she still had that uncanny ability to take away his pain, his insecurity, his fear with one simple touch of her hand.

.

_Cause when I look to the sky_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_And you make everything all right_

_When I feel like I'm lost_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_And I can always find my way_

.

Before he realized it two hours had passed and Rossi was pulling into the driveway. He felt trepidation overtaking him once again. Rossi noticed.

"You okay?"

Hotch took a shaky breath. "I haven't actually been here since she died. I don't know how they're going to feel about seeing me."

Rossi could hear the uneasiness in his voice. "You think Haley's parents blame you for her death?"

He shook his head slightly and looked down at his hands. "I don't know," he whispered.

"They don't." Hotch looked at Rossi curiously. Rossi smiled. "Jack isn't the only one I spoke to last night."

With that, Rossi got out of the car. Hotch followed, wondering what Rossi had meant. He did not have much time to think, however. Before he could get to the front porch, the front door opened and Jack Hotchner came running to his father.

"Daddy!"

Hotch lifted Jack into his arms and held him tight to his chest. He hugged him a little tighter than usual. And Jack, sensing that his father needed him, simply wrapped his arms tighter around his Daddy's neck. They stayed that way for a few short moments before Hotch loosened his grip so he could look at his son.

"I missed you, buddy."

"I missed you too. Mr. Rossi said you was sick. Are you better now?"

Hotch smiled and ruffled his son's hair. "I'm getting there."

"Good," Jack said as he wrapped his arms around Aaron's neck again.

"So, are you boys going to spend the afternoon in the driveway or are you coming in?" Haley's mother's voice rang out from the doorway. She gave the trio a welcoming smile and gestured for them to come inside.

Hotch put Jack down and followed him up the path with Rossi not far behind. Jack ran past his grandmother into the house. Rossi nodded to her and went in as well. Hotch paused in front of her on the porch and stood with his hands in his pockets. He once again felt nervous awaiting her reaction to his presence. She surprised him by placing a comforting hand to his cheek and giving him a soft, watery smile.

"It's been too long since you've been here, son. We've missed you."

He returned a slight smile, but it never made it to his eyes. Sadness still lingered there. "I didn't think you'd want to see me after everything that happened."

"Oh, Aaron," she sighed and hugged him. "You're always welcome here."

He finally let out the shaky breath he was holding and swallowed the lump in his throat as he hugged her back. She rubbed his back, comforting him as if he were her own son. As long as he'd been with Haley, he was close enough.

"We love you, you know," she whispered to him.

He looked at her and nodded. He smiled again, this one actually showing in his eyes. She smiled back.

"Now come inside before your son eats all the spaghetti."

Hotch's eyes went wide. "Spaghetti? Oh no."

He followed her to the dining room table where, as he expected, his four-year-old already had a face full of spaghetti sauce. He looked down at his son and could not hold back his laughter.

"Jack."

He looked up at his father. "Hm?"

"You're orange!"

"I know! Isn't it awesome? I love spaghetti!"

The table erupted with laughter. Hotch shook his head and sat next to his son. Jack's enthusiasm lightened the mood considerably. Amazing how one child could make a room full of adults forget their troubles and actually enjoy something as simple as a family dinner, even if only for a few minutes. The conversation was light-hearted, with Hotch once in a while having to use his quick reflexes to grab his son's sauce-covered hands before he could grab whatever he was after. There was still one important conversation to be had, however. And since dinner was winding down, now was as good a time as any.

"Aaron, come walk with me for a moment," Haley's father requested. He picked up his cane and headed out the back door. Aaron looked after him, apprehensively. He'd avoided this moment like the plague. Jessica put a hand on his shoulder and offered him a smile.

"I'll clean up the spaghetti monster. You go."

Jack giggled as his aunt escorted him from the room, holding his arms over his head so he would not touch anything. Hotch took a deep breath and followed his former father-in-law into the garden. They sat together on the bench in front of a beautiful, newly planted flowerbed. There was a colorful assortment of various types: pink, red, orange, yellow, and blue flowers interspersed throughout, and one corner of nothing but purple. They sat quietly for several moments before either of them spoke.

"Jack helped me out a lot this weekend. Took him with me to pick out the new flowers. Everything he picked was purple, for his mom. He wanted them all together, so we made a corner just for her. He said purple flowers in a garden were his mommy's favorite."

"They were," Hotch smiled.

"He hasn't forgotten that."

Hotch looked down and felt sadness creeping up on him again. Jack had not forgotten…yet. But he was so young. It was inevitable that he would begin to forget things about his mother. He hated to think about how that day would make either of them feel. Haley's father's voice broke through his thoughts.

"I spoke with Agent Rossi last night. I knew more than just you being sick would keep you from calling your son yourself."

Hotch leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

"Aaron," he continued, "I know you didn't allow yourself any time at all to grieve for Haley like the rest of us did. You've been so focused on being strong for Jack and for everyone else around you. And I also know how hard you are on yourself, especially when you feel like you've failed someone. You've been that way since you were a teenager."

Hotch felt a new wave of unshed tears sting his eyes. He tried to keep them from falling. Haley's father had no idea how right he was, how much Hotch considered himself a failure to this family. They trusted him to love their daughter. They trusted him to protect her, keep her safe. And in the end, he'd gotten her killed.

"Aaron, look at me, son."

But he couldn't bring himself to look her father in the eye. He kept his head down as he felt his emotional control slipping away from him. It was getting harder to breathe. Her father put one hand on his shoulder and the other under his chin to lift his head up. "Look at me."

As he lifted his head to face him, a single tear found its way through his barriers and rolled down his cheek. Her father wiped it away, where it was soon replaced by another. And another. And another.

"You did not fail her, Aaron. I know you did everything you could to try and save her. It was not your fault."

"Yes, it was," Hotch interrupted, his tears once again flowing freely as he choked on his words. "He went after them to get to me. He killed her because of me."

"He killed her because he wanted to. If not her, it would have been somebody else. We were all angry after what happened, but not at you. Do you understand? None of us were angry with you. We were angry that it happened. We were angry that a man like that existed in the first place. And we were angry that her life was taken away from that little boy after such a short period of time. But you did not do this to her, Aaron. The only person who blames you for this is you. You've been carrying around all of this misplaced guilt for long enough now. It's time for you to let yourself off the hook."

He took a few shuddery breaths. "I miss her so much."

He put a reassuring hand on Hotch's back. "We all do, son. But thanks to you, we still have that little boy in there to help keep a part of her alive. Don't ever forget that."

Hotch finally started to calm down. After hearing those words from her father, he could literally feel the guilt that had sealed itself around his heart like concrete finally starting to break away in very tiny pieces. He knew a part of him would always blame himself. That was a given. But knowing that her family did not blame him was the final piece he needed to finally allow himself to breathe again.

Haley's father stood and gave Hotch a squeeze on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Aaron. You always have been. Otherwise, I never would have let you marry her in the first place."

Hotch looked up at him and smiled. He made his way back to the house, giving Hotch a few minutes alone to compose himself.

.

_Whether I'm up or down or in or out_

_Or just plain overhead_

_Instead it just feels like it is impossible to fly_

_But with you I can spread my wings_

_To see me over everything_

_That life me send me when I am hoping it won't pass me by_

_._

_When I feel like there is no one_

_That will ever know me_

_There you are to show me_

.

A few minutes later, Jack strolled into the back yard and over to the bench. Without speaking, he climbed into his father's lap and curled up, resting his head on Hotch's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He had taken to doing this a lot over the past six months; whenever he needed that reassurance that his Daddy was here with him and he was safe, or when he felt his Daddy needed him close. Perceptiveness and protectiveness were two traits that had definitely been transferred from father to son. Hotch wrapped his arms around him as they sat silently, both staring at the same patch of purple flowers in the corner of the garden.

"You did a good job helping Grandpa with this," Hotch finally spoke quietly. "It's beautiful."

"Grandpa let me pick some of the flowers."

"I know."

"Mommy likes purple flowers."

Hotch propped his chin on Jack's head and held him a little tighter. "I know."

"I like the purple ones, too. They're pretty, like her."

Hotch looked down at his little man and couldn't help but smile. There was so much of Haley in him. She had taught him to appreciate the little things in life, not just the big things. She had taught him about compassion, about emotion. He was still so innocent inside, despite the horrors his young life had already seen. Hotch hoped he'd hold onto that innocence as long as humanly possible. He didn't want him to be hard inside all the time like he was. He wanted him to keep some of Haley's tenderness as well. He shifted Jack in his lap so they were face to face.

"You know what."

"What?"

"I had a really good dream last night about your Mommy."

"Really?" Jack's face lit up. "Me, too!"

Hotch grinned at his son's excitement. Leave it to Haley to check on them both on the same night.

.

_When I look to the sky_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_You make everything all right_

_And when I feel like I'm lost_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_And I can always find my way when you are here_

.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Jack's.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"You and me, we're gonna be okay, right?"

"Right."

"And you know how much I love you and that I'm proud of you, right?"

"Right."

"Every single day?"

"Every single day."

Hotch pulled his son into a tight hug. Somehow, the reassuring words of a four-year-old were exactly the words needed to break down that final wall around his heart. In that moment, he felt himself really and truly beginning to heal.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Grandpa let me get some flowers for Mommy. Can we take them to her?"

"Sure. I'll ask Dave if he'd mind stopping on the way home. But we'd better get going soon if we're stopping. It's a long drive home."

The two Hotchners went back inside to collect Jack's things and say their goodbyes.

Two hours later Rossi pulled into the cemetery and parked as close to Haley's gravesite as he could.

"You two go ahead. I'll wait here."

Rossi watched as Hotch and Jack made their way to Haley's grave, Jack proudly toting the small basket of purple flowers he'd picked out all by himself for his mother. He watched as both of them said a few words, Jack saying something that made Hotch chuckle. He watched as Hotch kissed his fingertips and laid them on her headstone, and Jack mimicked his father, doing the same. And as they walked back toward the car, Hotch hoisted his son into the air and onto his shoulders. He could hear Jack's laughter from the car. Rossi smiled to himself. They were both starting to heal.

Jack was sound asleep by the time they pulled into the apartment complex parking lot. Rossi grabbed his bag and Hotch's keys while Hotch unbuckled him from his car seat and carried him, careful not to wake him. Rossi opened the door to the apartment and Hotch carried Jack to his room. He left the door cracked and came back into the living room to talk to Rossi. He rubbed the back of his neck like he always did when he was entering an uncomfortable conversation.

"Dave, I…"

"You don't have to say anything, Hotch."

"No. I really need to get this out."

Rossi looked at him curiously. Hotch cleared his throat.

"You saved my life this weekend."

"I don't know that I'd go that far, Hotch. You had a breakdown. It happens."

"No, it's more than that." He swallowed hard. "Remember Friday night, you asked about my guns?"

Dave was listening intently now, and he didn't like where this was going. Hotch continued.

"I told you they were locked up, and they were. But they weren't unloaded."

Dave's eyes grew wide. "Hotch…"

"They are now, Dave. I unloaded them this morning; the clip and the chamber. And they'll stay that way." Hotch looked down and shook his head, ashamed of his earlier actions.

"I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up here," he continued. "I needed help but I was too stubborn to ask for it. And it almost cost my son the only parent he has left. You saved my life, Dave. I don't know if I'll ever be able to thank you enough for that."

Rossi was dumbfounded. Hearing his best friend admit that he had come to the brink of suicide threw him for a loop. Even though it was something he feared, hearing Hotch say it out loud brought him to a near panic. He cleared his throat.

"I'm not too sure if I should leave now."

Hotch nodded. He understood and respected his friend's concern.

"I really am okay now, Dave. You helped me more than you could possibly know. But if it will make you feel better, I'll let you see the guns if you want."

Rossi chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm going to take a few days off. I need to spend some time with Jack."

"Good. You sure you don't need me to stay?"

Hotch looked back toward Jack's room. "No. We're going to be okay."

"Okay. Call if you need anything."

"I will."

"Take care of yourself, Hotch."

"I will."

Rossi nodded and left. Hotch locked the door, set the alarm, and went to check on his son. He knelt next to his bed and ran his fingers softly through his hair, then rested his hand gently on Jack's back. He looked up at the picture of Haley that Jack always kept on his nightstand. Finally, he smiled.

.

_When I look to the sky_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_You make everything all right_

_And when I feel like I'm lost_

_Something tells me you're here with me_

_And I can always find my way when you are here_

_.  
_

"We're gonna be okay, Haley. I promise."

He pressed a soft kiss to Jack's forehead and whispered again, this time to his son.

"I promise."

_._

_.  
_

_**THE END**_


End file.
